


Games

by letsgobacktoMidnight



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch McCree, F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, Los Muetros AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2019-01-01 03:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12147186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsgobacktoMidnight/pseuds/letsgobacktoMidnight
Summary: The dark is still her friend, even with all the glowing tattoos racing down her limbs and torso. Los Muetros isn’t afraid of being seen, they have all the powers in the streets, but that was before they overran the city completely. Overwatch takes note of bigger problems, which Los Muetros become.





	Games

**Author's Note:**

> McSombra Week: Day 4 — Neon/Dark

The dark is still her friend, even with all the glowing tattoos racing down her limbs and torso. Los Muetros isn’t afraid of being seen, they have all the powers in the streets, but that was before they overran the city completely. Overwatch takes note of bigger problems, which Los Muetros become.

Now, they’re in a battleground, firing shots back and forth. Goons only trying to save their own skin while professionals creep closer with handcuffs. Their dark uniforms and barking commander give them away as Blackwatchr, and it seems they’re just dirty enough for the more underground force to take care of.

She grins, a Cheshire cat in the shadows, as people she fought alongside with over food and guns slowly get stunned or shot and jumped by an agent. They’re no match for them, but she is.

Slipping out of her thermoptic camo, the fight is already coming to a close in the distance. She already has her grounding, she just needs to find new costumers for her services. It’s almost emotional to think about never coming back to the thugs with black teeth and the tendency to call out pretty _chica’s_ but she’ll get over it.

Out of a small alleyway, she enters a plaza with a fountain and lights overhanging with yellow light. Soft and cheerful with piñatas hanging on small strings but it’s empty. The people know to not come out when it gets dark, or glowing skulls and waving guns will greet them. The stone on the fountain is worn but smooth as she traces one nail on the curve. Confetti floats on the edges of the water, a forgotten celebration.

“Los Muetros,” she chuckles to herself, picking a soggy blue paper from the water.

A step echoes on cement, and she drops the confetti in favor of her machine pistol.

Turning to face the source of the sound, light erupts into her vision, blinding her. Frozen still, her gun is ripped from her fingers and her back is against the fountain. Blinking away the harsh light, it still imprints on her vision is splattered fractured colors.

“Don’t move,” a voice drawls as she focuses pass the barrel of a gun pointed at her chest.

An Blackwatch agent, logo and all. A firm hand holds a peacekeeper to her heart, and a black cowboy hat dons his hair. A short covering drapes over one shoulder and parts into a second piece down his back. Intense and sharp, his gaze is leveled solely on her. Her machine pistol rests several feet away on the pavement, helplessly caught.

In a slow, careful movement, she raises her hand, playing along. Smoke comes off his person, separate from the gun. Pinewood slips into her senses, trying to hide under the cigarette smell, but she still lets it play on her tongue. He’s confident and capable. Handsome, even.

Her habit of playing with her food has always been bad, but never with her losing in the end.

“You think I’m with Los Muetros?” She speaks in English, knowing the gringo will be useless to play along with if she doesn’t.

“You’re not getting out of this,” striking words flow, thick with intensity. “Los Muetros is written all over you.”

She laughs, settle against the fountain as a seat, but her hands still wave in the air. The barrel of his gun follows her, but his fingers are steady against the trigger.

“I’m only a hire on. My hands never got dirty,” she smirks underneath her glowing yellow paint. “And I’m not surprise Blackwatch is taking in such young agents.”

His brow narrows under the shadow of his hat, little by little slipping under his skin with doubt.

“That’s rich, coming from the teenager.” He waves one hand, keeping his gun steady.

A laugh comes from her throat, honestly breaking through the night air at his assumption.

“I don’t think 21 is within that title.” Her smirk holds as he breath changes.

Something shifts in his gaze, and he murmurs under his breath, “I’m 27.”

Aw, not too young for Blackwatch, but still new. The game keeps tipping in her favor. Humming for a moment, she shifts against the fountain, looking back at the top of the water slowly trickling down. Soft background music to occupy his dark gun and her neon paint.

“Are you really going to shoot me?” She lowers one hand to tap against the stone, and he follows it carefully.

“Not if you cooperate.” A lighter threat, but it shows his weakness. A gentleman. Caring, and perhaps sympathetic? Still, all the cards are hers. With the smoke and pinewood and the dark locks underneath his hat, his heart doesn’t match the color of his association. He’s kill in a heartbeat, there is no doubt, but he’s letting his finger slide off the trigger at her relaxed arms.

She smirks, watching the barrel level with her heart when she steps forward. His voice commanders her to stop, to keep her hands up as she’s doing, but her advancement doesn’t slow. Flicking a spike of pink hair out of her face, her fingers twirl for one moment before the gun is touching her chest and her breath is nearly mingling with his.

“You’re pressing your luck, partner,” he warns, but his voice slips into a lower tone. Soft at her eyes searching his face. The gun is cold and hard, but his finger is still lifted and careful. What a shame it would be to accidently kill a criminal.

“I think I like the smell of smoke on you _, vaquero_.”

His lips part, pink and unready. With her fingers will dancing in the air, unarmed but still dangerous, she leans forward. The gun lightens off her chest as he greets her. Smoke fills her mouth at the soft press of her lips to his. They’re both hungry, but he’s slow, and enjoying it. Gentle, even as the gun lowers from her heart. She wants his lips, his tongue, the taste of pinewood.

His eyes close. Pulling back, her person wavers before disappearing into the background of lights and stone. When he looks again, she’s simply gone, and his gun is whipping over the area, but she always wins her little games.

Red covers his skin as he takes his hat off. Heavy breaths heave through heavy lungs as he clutches the hat to his chest. Looking up to the full moon, she watches it simmer in his eyes before he turns. Curses slip under his mouth, at her and himself, but mostly about her kiss.

She laughs when he returns to his commander, playing with the idea of securing another victory against the _vaquero_.


End file.
